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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29583171">some lost coast</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx'>oryx</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>GARO (TV), GARO: Makai Senki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, M/M, Repression, Slice of Life</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:13:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,774</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29583171</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsubasa's new teaching position brings a few hard-to-ignore feelings with it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Shijima Wataru/Yamagatana Tsubasa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>the ultimate in niche #my brand content. if anyone in the world reads this: a kissaroo from me to you</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>If he’s being totally honest, he probably isn’t meant for teaching.</p>
<p>He’s just not good with kids, is the simple, unfortunate truth of the matter. Particularly not with boys of this age, who only seem to truly respect those who wield authority with a certain flair or gravitas. “Coolness” is the word for it, he’s fairly certain. And Tsubasa is self-aware enough to know that he possesses little of that. He is, as Jabi once described him, a “deeply embarrassing uptight stickler.”</p>
<p>But what was he supposed to do? Say no, when Shijima Wataru smiled at him, eyes warm, and said “you know, we’ve got an open instructor position at the camp”?</p>
<p>It would have been terribly rude to refuse.</p>
<p>And there is some appeal to it, certainly: the positive, social atmosphere, watching the boys become better and stronger with each passing day. There are in fact plenty among them who <em>don’t</em> snicker behind his back, or ask him leading questions about old laws and ordinances in order to set him off on a rambling tangent and avoid their lessons. He has labeled those who don’t as the trustworthy ones, and has resolved to do anything he can to help them in the future.</p>
<p>And it’s nice, too, to be around his fellow teachers. Makai Knights are solitary creatures by the nature of the profession, and so for a group of them to be united in a common goal like this, sharing the same space for so long… It’s a rare, pleasant feeling. For the most part. They find themselves with a lot of stories to tell – some left untold for so long that it takes time and drink to dredge them up, and not every one is the picture of knightly honor and grace.</p>
<p>Today, Ukai’s recounting of the time he mistook a high ranking Senate Priest for a Horror due to a dark enchantment and nearly murdered him in the middle of a Tribunal (hearty laughter all around for this one, as Tsubasa sat there staring at them in alarm) has led to Wataru telling a story of his own. About being tasked with the delivery of a rare, delicate alloy that the Priest inventors were using to make “god knows what.” Unfortunately, no one had informed Wataru of the metal’s unique property: that its resonance attracts a particularly vicious type of Makai Beast.</p>
<p>“I threw that package at their feet when I finally got there,” he says, an amused glint in his eyes. “You should have seen their faces as they dove for it.”</p>
<p>Another approving laugh goes up around the table, but Tsubasa’s frown only deepens.</p>
<p>“Wasn’t that very irresponsible?” he says, and everyone stops; turns to blink at him, mugs of wine raised halfway to their lips. “That package was your mission. To jeopardize it like that was thoughtless. Even if there were circumstances – ”</p>
<p>“Oi, oi,” Yanagi growls. “You sayin’ he had no right to be angry? When he could’ve died over some workshop material?”</p>
<p>“I – I’m certain the officials who gave the orders had their reasons for not disclosing the nature of the item – ”</p>
<p>“Good grief. Remind me where you picked this kid up from, Wataru?” Maeda asks, eyebrow raised, and Tsubasa can feel the back of his neck grow hot.</p>
<p>Wataru’s lips twitch. “He saved my life, remember? By getting himself stabbed. Willing to die for all kinds of things, this one.”</p>
<p>Yanagi makes a ‘tch’ sound. “Greenhorns,” he mutters. “Can’t stand the ones who still think they’re soldiers.”</p>
<p>Tsubasa opens his mouth and closes it again. He’s rather unsure how to respond to that, and Wataru seems to be reading the bewilderment on his face.</p>
<p>“Once they spend a few more years doing this job,” he explains, “people tend to have a change of philosophy.” He taps a finger against his mug thoughtfully. “You think of yourself as a… combatant first and foremost, right? Fighting for the cause. And if you fall in the line of duty it’ll have been an honorable sacrifice, and someone else will step up to take your place in the line. And it’s all nice and efficient, like cogs in a clock.</p>
<p>“But at some point you’re going to realize how precarious this system really is. And how necessary you are as a Knight. And once you do, you start to think of yourself more like. A candle in a huge, dark room. The dark almost completely swallows that light. And if it goes out, then there’s nothing left at all. And maybe that candle can’t ever be re-lit. So you try your damnedest not to die, for as long as you can, because there’s more at stake than just you. And giving your life up for a Knight who’s older than you, whose candle is burning lower? That’s a stupid, naïve move.”</p>
<p>He finds that he can’t look away from Wataru’s eyes – sharp and intent where they’re usually affable and mild. He feels like he’s being pinned into his seat. There are other people at the table, of course, but suddenly he can’t even remember what they look like, their presence a blur along the edges of his vision as he tries to find his voice.</p>
<p>“Are you saying… I shouldn’t have done anything to save you?”</p>
<p>Wataru considers this, swilling his wine back and forth. “Probably, yeah,” he says.</p>
<p>“That’s – that’s not – ”</p>
<p>“But,” and here the tension of the moment melts away as he smiles, “I’m kind of glad you did, honestly.”</p>
<p>He reaches out to pat him on the cheek with a laugh before getting to his feet, stretching out his shoulders and saying “time for me to turn in for the night,” and Tsubasa can only sit there, statue-like, as he takes his leave, still feeling the lingering outline of his palm.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He notes, via a completely normal amount of careful observation, that Wataru does that sort of thing often. Physical affection. With his fellow knights it’s a clap on the shoulder, usually. With his students it’s a hand ruffling their hair, a curve of the mouth as he says “good work today.”</p>
<p>“I’m proud of you, y’know,” he even says to one of them, after the group test is over, and Tsubasa stops short as he stares. His eyes focus on that hand – how gentle it is on the crown of the boy’s head. The kid brightens in an instant, the dirt and blood on his face forgotten as he beams up at him, and Tsubasa thinks: </p>
<p>
  <em>That seems nice.</em>
</p>
<p>It’s like a wistful sigh in his head, and it startles him with the same intensity as if someone had just rung a bell loud in his ear. He blinks; shakes himself and turns back to his own students, several of whom are giving him odd looks.</p>
<p>He should say something like that, too. That he’s proud of them. Even though they lost, they did try very hard, some of them fighting with an earnest determination he wouldn’t have expected. They’re beginning to look like small warriors now. But in the end he simply nods, terse and somber.</p>
<p>“Next round your performance will be better,” he says. “I will make sure of that. Be prepared for a stricter training regimen from tomorrow onward.”</p>
<p>They all groan in unison.</p>
<p>Later, he ponders on his own reaction. It’s to be expected, isn’t it? As someone who never attended a training camp like this, and whose teachers were a rotating handful of village elders, none of whom were much bothered to give him anything beyond the necessary knowledge and strength. He never truly had someone to admire, to aspire to, someone who would commend him in return for a skill well-mastered.</p>
<p>So it’s normal, he tells himself. That he would want that even now.</p>
<p>He seeks Wataru out the next afternoon, late enough to be nearing dusk, approaching the fire pit he’s stoking with a skittish trepidation that he isn’t sure the source of.</p>
<p>“Wataru-san,” he says, grip tightening around the hilt of his halberd, and Wataru’s eyes slide towards him, face lit dimly orange in the firelight. “I have a favor to ask of you.”</p>
<p>“Hm? Oh, wait, hold on. I’m sensing something.” He cups his hands around his mouth and calls into the forest. “Oi, you lot! Don’t even think of going near the Priest camp! No gawking at the girls!”</p>
<p>A somewhat pouty chorus of “yes, sensei”s comes floating back through the trees in reply. Wataru laughs.</p>
<p>“They always try it during firewood duty.” He turns back to Tsubasa with a mild smile. “What was it you needed?”</p>
<p>“I – I was hoping you might agree… to start sparring with me regularly.”</p>
<p>“…Sparring?”</p>
<p>Tsubasa nods. “I’m worried I might be getting complacent. It would be unseemly to let my skills deteriorate while I’m teaching others.” The words feel odd in his mouth. Misshapen. They’re certainly not a lie, but they aren’t quite the full truth, either.</p>
<p>Wataru mulls this over as he feeds a branch into the crackling flames. “Well. I’m not opposed to the idea. Could probably use something to keep me sharp, too. But… I’m not exactly sure how well-matched we’d be.” He arches an eyebrow. “You know you’re better than me, right?”</p>
<p>Tsubasa frowns. “That’s not true.”</p>
<p>“It is. I’ve done my research. Dan is a notoriously tough armor to master. And I’ve seen you fight, Tsubasa. You’re about a rank or two above me.”</p>
<p>“I say, very well spoken,” Goruba cuts in, his usually-brittle voice emboldened, full of pride. “You are a wise, intuitive man, sir, to see my Tsubasa’s talent so clearly! Not many have – ”</p>
<p>“Goruba, quiet,” Tsubasa says sharply.</p>
<p>“But if you really want me to,” Wataru continues, amusement evident, “I’ll try to keep up. How about tomorrow before lunch for the first round?”</p>
<p>Which is how, after he’s sent his students off for their break, he finds himself crossing blades with Wataru in a clearing a little ways out from the instructors’ cabins. It’s a grey, pallid day, chilly and dull, a faint mist twining through the trunks of the trees. Wataru seems in high enough spirits despite the weather, smiling as he tosses Tsubasa a wooden practice staff.</p>
<p>“Not that I don’t trust you coming at me with the real thing,” he says. “But I figure it’s a safer bet until we’ve gotten more comfortable with each other.”</p>
<p>Those words seem to get stuck in the farthest corner of his thoughts, a sharp thorn that prods at him.</p>
<p>He wonders if, other than his sister, he has ever been truly comfortable with anyone.</p>
<p>He throws himself into the training to avoid those musings, narrowing his focus to only this, the reverberating strike of wood against wood. When he manages to disarm Wataru, knocking his weapon from his hands with enough force to embed it firmly into the earth, Wataru blinks; shakes out his undoubtedly stinging fingers with a soft whistle.</p>
<p>“See? You are good,” he says. Rolls his shoulders as if to dispel some stiffness. “And I’m certainly not getting any younger.”</p>
<p>“I think you’re still young, Wataru,” the childlike voice of his Madou Tool pipes up.</p>
<p>“Oh?” He flicks its mirror-like face. “Like that means anything coming from you.”</p>
<p>“But I know you could – ” Tsubasa says hurriedly. “Could teach me something new, I think. You are an accomplished instructor, after all.”</p>
<p>Wataru seems to consider this. “Well. There is this one technique. Meant for swords, but it would probably be possible with that weapon of yours. My own master taught it to me decades ago, and I’ve been considering trying to pass it down to my son, but.” His mouth curves slightly upward, a wry expression. “To be honest, I’m starting to doubt if being a Knight is the right path for him. Doesn’t handle a blade very well, to put it kindly.”</p>
<p>Tsubasa can feel his brow knit together. “…And that doesn’t bother you?” When Wataru gives him an uncomprehending look, he continues: “That he won’t inherit your armor.”</p>
<p>“Hm. Not particularly.”</p>
<p>“But that’s…” But bloodlines are everything, he wants to recite. Traditions must continue. Dan must remain within the lineage of our people, where it has always been – </p>
<p>“Well. When I die, if I haven’t yet passed it on, Baron will be taken to the Tower of Heroes,” Wataru says, matter-of-fact. “And the idea of some orphan kid, maybe, with no status, no family name, stumbling in there after training and training and being granted my old armor… That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Because it wasn’t just a given. They clawed their way up to be there. I think… That’s when the candle in that dark room is guaranteed to be re-lit.”</p>
<p>He walks over to pull his practice sword from the ground; rests it against his shoulder and turns back with an easy smile. “But even so. I’d still like to give my master’s technique to someone I can actually see use it. You interested?”</p>
<p>Tsubasa nods, maybe a bit too quick. “Yes, that would be. Perfect.”</p>
<p>When he hones it to the ideal level of mastery four sessions later, the exact movements and arc of his halberd needed to split the opposite tree along its trunk with a thunderous crack, Wataru looks from him to it and back again with a startled, awed sort of expression.</p>
<p>“I was younger than you at the time, but.” He shakes his head as he wanders over. “Still. Took me months to get the hang of that one. You’re really something.” </p>
<p>Tsubasa sucks in a breath as his hand reaches out to pat his cheek again, just for a moment before dropping away, leaving him warm despite the chill that still persists in the air. </p>
<p>“Good work,” he says, looking so genuinely pleased that something tightens in his chest, trapping that strange, fluttery feeling there between his ribs. “And thanks. For my old master’s sake. He’d be happy, seeing his technique passed on.”</p>
<p>“No,” Tsubasa manages to say. “No, it’s… an honor.”</p>
<p>Wataru folds his arms; taps a finger against his bicep thoughtfully. “Now I really wonder if I have anything left to teach you, though.”</p>
<p>“It’s fine if there’s nothing specific. As long as we can keep meeting like this, I – ”</p>
<p>He snaps his mouth shut, struck by the realization of how peculiar those words sound, and Wataru stares at him, bemused.</p>
<p>“You’re an odd one, you know that? Think you might be giving me too much credit. But… I guess I don’t mind.” He tosses Tsubasa the wooden practice staff once more, turning his own sword over in his hand with an expert twirl of his fingers. “Why don’t you try out that move on me to start? Then we’ll see where we go from there.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The talk around the instructors’ tables in the mess hall often changes quickly, in a casual, flowing way Tsubasa has difficulty following the trajectory of. He simply sits and listens, for the most part, and today the chatter is that Yanagi’s sister is getting married, “to this guy who’s kind of a haughty prick, if you ask me, from one of those ‘old families,’ right, a real inflated sense of ego, but she definitely doesn’t care about my opinion.” And then, abruptly:</p>
<p>“Hey Shijima, when the hell are <em>you</em> gonna settle down? You’ll be an old man before you know it.”</p>
<p>Wataru lifts his eyes to the ceiling; waves a hand to dismiss the thought. “Haven’t we been over this? Even when I’m not out on a job, I’m here with you lot. They’d have to have the patience of a saint to put up with me.”</p>
<p>Tsubasa’s fingers go still where they were aimlessly turning his mug of wine. He’d thought certainly… that Wataru had a wife. But he’s only ever mentioned his son, now that he thinks about it. Did he ever have someone like that? Did she pass away? Or maybe…</p>
<p>“If you found a real tough Priest to marry you, you could be one of those inseparable battle duos,” Maeda is saying with sage nod. “That’s the smart man’s way to do this job, if you ask me. Always having a beautiful woman by your side.”</p>
<p>“And like the rest of us keep telling you,” Wataru says drily, “every beautiful Priest woman is either already taken or…”</p>
<p>“Setting up camp on the other side of the river!” At least four of the others finish the sentence in a chorus, and Maeda grumbles something unintelligible, having clearly heard such a thing many times before.</p>
<p>“What is that supposed to mean?” Tsubasa asks, loud enough to be heard over the low clamor.</p>
<p>A sudden quiet descends as everyone turns to give him the blankest of looks. Clearly he hasn’t learned enough to prevent this from happening.</p>
<p>Wataru clears his throat, obviously trying to suppress a laugh as he says, “It’s… just a euphemism that gets tossed around. For Priest women who aren’t so much interested in us men as they are… interested in each other.”</p>
<p>Tsubasa stares back at him. Something feels as if it were caught between the cogs of his thoughts, everything coming to a jarring, clanging halt as he attempts to process this.</p>
<p>“That… happens?” he finds himself asking. It does make sense, doesn’t it? So many things Jabi has said to him feel like they’re snapping into focus, now. A shroud being pulled away. And above all else he finds himself wanting to ask <em>what about the other way around</em> but that seems like something he shouldn’t say in front of these people – </p>
<p>“You can’t be serious,” Ukai groans, putting his head in his hands. “Wataru, this guy is killing me. Nobody in this line of work should be this much of a sheltered country boy. It shouldn’t be humanly possible.”</p>
<p>Tsubasa draws himself up in his seat, irritation prickling along his skin. “There’s no need to – ” </p>
<p>“No, remember, he said he never came to one of these camps as a brat,” Shuuzou pipes up. He’s wearing a look of mock solemnity. “That must be it, right? Not enough male bonding as a kid can really leave a man clueless. It’s tragic.”</p>
<p>Laughter bubbles up around him, and Tsubasa’s face flushes, hands curling into fists at his side. “I apologize, then,” he says sharply, pushing his chair back with a scrape of wood and getting to his feet. “For my ignorance.”</p>
<p>He’s halfway back to his cabin, his steps quick, pulse loud enough in his ears that he almost doesn’t hear it when someone calls after him. Wataru’s expression is amused but not unkind as he jogs to catch up with him, a light touch on his shoulder that immediately halts him in his tracks.</p>
<p>“Hey, listen,” he says. With the fading sun on him, there seem to be flecks of lighter brown in his eyes that weren’t there before. His eyelashes cast delicate shadows on his face. “They don’t mean to be unwelcoming, you know. Or to… ‘make fun.’ They’re just rough around the edges by nature. And they’ve been stuck around each other for so long they have a hard time understanding Knights who aren’t like them. They’re too jaded to remember when they weren’t.” </p>
<p>His hand slides back, then, past his collar to curl around the nape of his neck, the gentlest of holds, and yet Tsubasa can’t seem to move, rooted there in place as Wataru leans in and smiles at him. “I think, in that way, you’re fine as you are. If my opinion counts for anything. So don’t mind it too much.” Lets go and steps away, giving him a nod. “Good night, Tsubasa.”</p>
<p>He watches him walk away with his eyes wide and his heart pounding. Lifts his own hand slowly to touch his fingertips to the back of his neck. The unasked question seems to fill up every bit of space in his mind, now, loud and echoing: <strong><em>what about the other way around</em> </strong>– </p>
<p>“Tsubasa?” Goruba says, his voice sounding far away. “I say, are you quite alright?”</p>
<p>“…I don’t know,” he hears himself say. “I don’t – I think… this might be bad, Goruba.”</p>
<p>He barely hears any of the old man’s ramblings about ancient medicinal cures for whatever might ail him as he drifts, ghost-like, along the path the rest of the way to his cabin. Shutting the door behind him, he sinks back against it in a daze.</p>
<p>“This might be <em>really</em> bad,” he murmurs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He remembers being sixteen, and a Knight and his son, a Priest-in-training about Tsubasa’s age, had come to their village to stay for a week while waiting for the ideal phase of the moon for crossing the Dead Marshes to the south. He had ended up the boy’s host and tour guide of sorts simply by default, as there were few others in their age group around, and they’d fallen in together far better than anyone else had ever fallen in with Tsubasa.</p>
<p>He’d been very friendly and charming, that boy, with long, jet black hair he kept pulled back, and a lopsided smile, and an easy laugh. He’d said, “you’re pretty fun to be around, you know that,” something Tsubasa had never heard from another person before. He’d laid awake later that night unable to stop thinking about those words.</p>
<p>And that day at the shrine before they left Tsubasa had looked at his hand resting there on the step next to him, and looked at the handsome profile of his face, and thought.</p>
<p>What? What did he think, then? He can’t recall any fully formed idea – just a whisper of something, a vague nudge at the back of his mind.</p>
<p>Later, he’d wanted desperately to seek forgiveness from that boy. To find him again and bow his head in penance. But for what? He’d done nothing at all. Hadn’t even entertained a thought, really.</p>
<p>So then why even now is the memory so vivid?</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s amateurish, he’ll think later. For his focus to slip without his noticing, no longer seeing the full picture of his opponent but instead a detail, eyes fixated on the line of Wataru’s forearm, the faded scar that curves along it, the tensing up of muscle as he grips his sword. The weather has turned abruptly, and so he’s shed his coat for this day’s practice, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows.</p>
<p>It doesn’t take long for Tsubasa, distracted as he is, to find himself being swept off balance, landing hard on his back in the grass. Wataru, with the tip of his blade now at Tsubasa’s throat, tilts his head to the side as he stands over him.</p>
<p>“You seem a little off today,” he says.</p>
<p>Tsubasa swallows hard.</p>
<p>He takes Wataru’s hand when it’s offered, clasping his wrist as he’s pulled back to his feet, but finds it oddly difficult to let go once he’s there. He stares down at where Wataru’s thumb is sitting against his skin. It seems unreasonably warm, that touch. Electrified. He can feel Wataru studying him in the silence.</p>
<p>“Tsubasa,” he says slowly. “Is there something else you want from me?”</p>
<p>His eyes snap up, startled. He finds Wataru’s expression unreadable in a way that makes something twist anxiously in the pit of his stomach.</p>
<p>“I’ve been wondering,” he continues. “If there’s some other reason why you’re set on training like this so frequently. Can you tell me?”</p>
<p>Tsubasa reaches for something sensible and logical to say in this moment, but his mind has gone utterly blank. All that’s left is the first thought that comes to him.</p>
<p>“I want you to praise me,” he says.</p>
<p>Wataru blinks back at him.</p>
<p>“Praise you,” he echoes. “As in…?”</p>
<p>“Telling me that I – ” His mouth is dry, and he licks his lips. “That I did well.”</p>
<p>Wataru is silent for a long, excruciating moment, his face still revealing nothing.</p>
<p>“And why do you want that?” he asks finally.</p>
<p>Tsubasa can’t begin to imagine how to answer that.</p>
<p>“I mean. Is it just a simple gratification thing? Could it be anyone? And I just happened to be the only one here you knew well enough to ask?”</p>
<p>“No,” Tsubasa says sharply. “No, it’s.” His grip around Wataru’s wrist tightens, face hot enough that he’s sure it must be radiating. “You’re the only one I’ve ever really… wanted to hear it from.”</p>
<p>That finally gets a reaction from him – a wry expression, letting out a breath that’s almost an incredulous half-laugh, leaning back as if to accommodate something that has just taken up space between them.</p>
<p>“Alright. I gotta say. This is probably the oddest way I’ve ever been confessed to.”</p>
<p>The word is like being pierced by a bolt from the blue. Confessed? Is that what he just did? Panicked, Tsubasa lets go of his wrist as if it were burning to the touch, stepping back and dropping into a deep bow.</p>
<p>“I – I sincerely apologize,” he says quickly. “For saying unseemly things. That was – it was very inappropriate.”</p>
<p>“Tsubasa, no, that’s. I’m not saying I mind.”</p>
<p>He raises his head slowly to find him running a thumb along his jawline, pensive.</p>
<p>“It’s just. Putting your, ah, ‘request’ aside, I’m not sure how you want me to react here. Having a bit of a crush on an instructor figure is… fairly typical, I think. I’ve seen it before, trust me. And that kind of thing fades quick enough. It’s something to let be, and it’ll pass on its own. But.” And here he gives him a long, studying look. “I’m getting the impression that maybe… You’re more determined than that. And you don’t want me to just let it be.”</p>
<p>Tsubasa’s hand curls and uncurls at his side, tense with nervous energy. “What would,” he starts; falters. “What would be the alternative?”</p>
<p>That gets an amused quirk of the lips out of him. “Well,” he says. “I can think of a few options. Though you know… I’m a little old for you, right?”</p>
<p>“That’s – that’s not true.”</p>
<p>A raised eyebrow. “I have a son who’ll be turning eleven soon. I’d say that’s pretty significant.”</p>
<p>“To me it isn’t! You’re – ”</p>
<p>He stops. What is he even saying? What is he making a case for, exactly? He can barely even conceive of it. Years later, perhaps he’s still no different from that day at the shrine staring at that boy’s hand. He just <em>wants</em> – vaguely, disconcertingly, a formless dark shape of something just out of reach.</p>
<p>Wataru is giving him a look unlike any he’s seen on his face before: unsmiling, even a little sad, yet oddly soft and fond.</p>
<p>“I probably shouldn’t have encouraged this, should I,” he murmurs. “I should’ve kept my distance. But you’re just so cute. And I just keep thinking about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t… if you hadn’t been there…” He trails off and shakes his head; smiles thinly. “Good work today. That’s all you really wanted to hear, right?”</p>
<p>“I – well,” he stammers. Suddenly he’s not so sure.</p>
<p>“I think we’ve done enough of these training sessions, haven’t we? It’ll be graduation time soon enough. You should focus on your students.” He leans in just a bit with a playful glint in his eye that looks genuine enough. “My kids will trounce yours, you know.”</p>
<p>He turns away with a laugh and a raised hand in parting, and Tsubasa stares after him until the trees hide him from view, and it’s just him there in the clearing, the early afternoon sun filtering through branches, the sounds of the rest of the camp bustling about drifting muffled through the evergreens. </p>
<p>Goruba makes a perplexed, ponderous noise, clicking his metal teeth. “Gracious, but you humans complicate these matters to an unnecessary degree. I’m not quite sure if you were rejected or not, my boy.”</p>
<p>“You and me both,” Tsubasa murmurs, his own voice sounding a bit distant, and mechanically picks up his practice staff to begin the trudge back to camp.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Prepping his students for their graduation trial does, in fact, demand most of his attention, leaving blessedly little time to dwell on anything else. He still manages it, of course, sitting in the mess hall in his usual place opposite Wataru as if nothing were different, only he keeps his eyes averted now, fully restrains himself from ever cutting into the conversation. Wataru is telling a story about a mission from years ago, casual as anything, but all Tsubasa can think of is that strange, sad expression, can only hear “you’re just so cute” – </p><p>He ends up leaving ahead of any of the others, muttering something about turning in early. He stops fraternizing completely in the days that follow. Much to do, after all. Strict schedules to keep his students to.</p><p>He’s not surprised that they all manage to pass their trial – they’ve grown a great deal, since those first few weeks of undisciplined rowdiness – but he is surprised by the sincere respect in their bows to him afterward.</p><p>“Thank you for everything, Tsubasa-sensei,” they recite in chorus, and they’re all grinning genuinely when they look up at him, and.</p><p>His throat feels somewhat thick as he gives them the proper traditional words in reply.</p><p>(He supposes he could <em>become</em> suited for teaching, with a bit more concerted effort on his part. It was perhaps overly hasty to write himself off so soundly before.</p><p>Respect can be earned, it seems, even for a deeply embarrassing uptight stickler.)</p><p>He notes, at the celebration afterward, that Wataru is not relaxing. Amid the laughter of the boys and the crackling of fireworks, his hand remains firmly on the hilt of his sword, his smile distracted, not quite there as his eyes scan the surrounding darkening woods. It’s enough to make Tsubasa summon his courage and inquire.</p><p>“Are we expecting an attack?” he asks, and Wataru turns to look at him with mild surprise and something else that he can’t quite put a name to before his expression smoothes away.</p><p>“Well,” he muses, “not really. The enchantments and wards around the camps these days are powerful as anything. Ten times moreso than they used to be. Not much could get in unless someone let it. But.” Here his mouth twists, a shadow passing across his eyes. “I can’t help it, I suppose. When something does go wrong… It just never leaves you.”</p><p>“Go wrong?” Tsubasa presses.</p><p>Wataru hums in assent, which seems to be the full answer he’s willing to give on the matter. “But I’ve been standing guard like this every graduation party for fourteen years, so maybe enough is enough, right?” He smiles faintly; claps Tsubasa on the arm. “I’ll go get us some drinks. I have something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”</p><p>It’s possible that Tsubasa blanches a bit at those words, stomach twisting itself into a knot, and strongly debates fleeing into the dark of the forest before he gets back. He doesn’t, in the end, so. It counts as a win, he’s fairly sure.</p><p>Wataru presses a mug of wine into his hands when he returns; joins him on the hewn stone bench by one of the several bonfires they have burning for the occasion. Whomever built this bench had to have done so as a joke, as it’s far too small for two people to be sitting comfortably, he thinks. The closeness is distracting. And Wataru is quiet for a time, leaving Tsubasa to stew in his own nervousness even further still, staring down into the deep purple of the wine and considering whether he should say something first, or maybe – </p><p>“I’m wondering,” Wataru says, “what you’re planning to do tomorrow.”</p><p>Tsubasa freezes.</p><p>“Are you heading home, I mean? Or do you have a mission already lined up? Or…?”</p><p>“I – I don’t know,” Tsubasa admits. He hadn’t even thought about it. Too focused on the immediate present to consider his own future course of action. “I’ve not had any orders from the Senate. I suppose… I will return to my village.”</p><p>“That doesn’t exactly sound set in stone,” Wataru points out. “So. I was kind of hoping you might agree to come home with me.”</p><p>Tsubasa stares at him.</p><p>“With you,” he echoes.</p><p>Wataru nods slowly. “I’d like you to meet my son, if that’s alright with you. Introduce you to the neighbors. Not many of those, I should say. My place is pretty remote.”</p><p>“I – that’s – ” Tsubasa’s thoughts are suddenly moving too quickly to grasp, ricocheting around in his head, and the only real question he can manage is: “Why?”</p><p>“Why what?”</p><p>“Why do you… want me to meet those people?”</p><p>Wataru smiles as he lifts his mug to his lips and takes a sip. “You’re the man who saved my life, aren’t you? And you’re a close colleague now, on top of that. It’s only natural.”</p><p>Tsubasa gets the feeling that this isn’t the full truth. That something is being carefully obfuscated from his view and understanding. Though what other reason would there be?</p><p>“I would be honored,” he says, before he can think himself into a corner with this. “To visit your home.”</p><p>Wataru hums. “Had a feeling you were going to say you were honored, whether you accepted or not. No need to be so formal about it, you know. Think of it like. Some time off, until one of us gets a summons. You do know what ‘time off’ is, right?”</p><p>“I’ve heard tell of the concept,” Tsubasa says stiltedly, and Wataru looks at him in surprise for a moment before laughing, eyes crinkling at the corners.</p><p>“Oh, see, there you go,” he says. “We’ll get a sense of humor for you yet.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He is prepared, upon meeting Wataru outside the camp boundaries early the next afternoon, for days of trekking through the surrounding wilderness. He has provisions and a sleeping roll packed, his traditional garb traded in for lightweight clothing more suited for roughing it. But Wataru, who has taken no such steps, simply arches an eyebrow at him.</p><p>“We’re just taking the Knight Roads, you know. Should take about an hour.”</p><p>Tsubasa frowns. “That is against the precepts. They are intended to be used only in times of great need – ”</p><p>Wataru holds up a hand. “Here’s something important to consider: most of the time, it’s only rule-breaking if you get caught.”</p><p>Tsubasa’s frown deepens, but when the path opens, the earth splitting open to reveal the onyx stone stairs descending into dimly lit gloom, he hesitates for only a moment before following Wataru down. He supposes there isn’t any point in making it an issue.</p><p>As quick and convenient as they are, the Knight Roads are not a terribly interesting way to travel, with little to see but the intermittent glow of green flame in the braziers along the walls, little to hear but your own rhythmic footsteps. Tsubasa, trailing just a bit behind, finds himself staring at the back of Wataru’s neck.</p><p>“I apologize for prying,” he blurts out. “But I’d like to avoid putting my foot in my mouth. Your son… Does he have a mother in the picture at all?”</p><p>“Well. I suppose he must have, at some point.”</p><p>“…What?”</p><p>Wataru glances back at him, expression indecipherable in the darkness.  “He’s not really mine, you know. In the typical sense, I mean. I… found Souta when he was four years old. The whole settlement had been murdered by… something or someone. I never did find the one responsible.” There’s a sour note to his voice. “Souta was the only survivor, as far as I know. He’d climbed inside the roadside shrine, or been put there, maybe, and what power it had kept him safe.</p><p>“I tried to find someone else to take him. No one at the next settlement over was willing. Maybe they thought he was cursed or marked after skirting death like that. Almost left him at a regular civilian orphanage, in the end. We were right there at the gate. And then… I don’t know. He just looked up at me and it was like. I couldn’t do it.” He huffs out a laugh. “So then I had a kid. Just like that.”</p><p>“…I see,” Tsubasa murmurs. Most other knights would’ve left the child, he can’t help but think. Practicality in one’s decisions should always be first in mind. That’s the rule of this life. But he’s beginning to suspect that Wataru, for all his surface level rational calm, is also secretly prone to it – of getting caught up in sentiment.</p><p>“I do wonder sometimes,” he’s continuing, as if sensing those thoughts, “if maybe he’d have been better off if I did leave him that day. It’s not like I’ve been the best parent, gone all the damn time. He usually seems happy enough, but. Kids’ll do that. Pretend that they’re fine when they aren’t.”</p><p>“I think… in this case, he must be very happy.”</p><p>Wataru gives him a sidelong look, and realizing the strange authority with which he’d spoken, Tsubasa clears his throat, ducking his head in apology.</p><p>“Well. His original parents left him, didn’t they? Even though they weren’t at fault for it. If you’d given him up, I imagine he would have thought, in his child logic… That he was someone who drove others away somehow. Or who wasn’t good enough for them to stay. But you kept him with you. So I’m sure he thinks of you in the highest regard, Wataru-san. Even when you’re gone, he knows you’ll always come back for him, and that’s probably enough for him.”</p><p>Wataru is silent for a long moment. The vague outline of his face seems – embarrassed, almost, though Tsubasa must be imagining it.</p><p>“I almost didn’t, though,” he says softly. “Make it back. He never would’ve forgiven me, huh?” There is the faint impression of a smile. “Good thing I had fate on my side.”</p><p>At the end of the Knight Road they emerge into a startlingly green section of forest, the trees ancient and overgrown with moss and crawling vines. The incline and rocky texture of the earth seem to indicate a mountain slope. There’s a quiet surrounding them that one only finds far beyond modern civilization, even their footsteps muted.</p><p>“You must enjoy your solitude,” he comments, “to live out here.”</p><p>Wataru hums. “I had a grandfather who lived in this area. And I ended up getting attached to it, I suppose. Childhood nostalgia will do that to you.”</p><p>It’s not long until they arrive at a fence surrounding a small plot of land built with great effort into the steppe, a quaint wooden house with a smoking chimney sitting amid the chaos of overgrown vegetable and herb gardens.</p><p>“Well, look who it is.” An old woman, hidden at first glance behind a very large blackberry bush, emerges to grin at them. Her hair is completely silver; one of her teeth is bright gold. “Had a feeling it’d be today you’d be coming back.”</p><p>“He been well-behaved for you?”</p><p>“The day that boy gives me any real trouble is the day I die of shock.”</p><p>“Don’t say it like that, Maika-san,” Wataru laughs, leaning casually on the fencepost. “You never know with kids when they start growing up – ”</p><p>“Dad!” The door of the house opens and slams closed again as someone sprints out of it, across the gardens in a blur, ducking under the fence and tackling Wataru in a hug. The hand he places on the boy’s head as he greets him is reminiscent of the kids at camp, and yet. Different, Tsubasa thinks. Softer. No matter how much one cares for their students, they are no replacement for a son.</p><p>Souta turns his head to regard Tsubasa suspiciously. Even if he hadn’t been told the history, he might have suspected now, upon seeing the boy’s face with so little resemblance to Wataru’s. He possesses none of his sharp features.</p><p>“And who might this be?” the old woman – Maika-san – asks, arching an eyebrow. “You don’t bring other Knights around here often.”</p><p>Wataru gestures graciously towards him. “Yamagatana Tsubasa, Makai Knight Dan. Our newest instructor at the camp. And Tsubasa, this is Maika. Retired Priest, but she still casts some spells with a kick to them, so I’d watch out for her.” (Maika’s grin widens.) “And this is Souta.”</p><p>Tsubasa plants his halberd firmly as he ducks his head. “An honor to make your acquaintance, ma’am. Young Master.”</p><p>“…Yamagatana,” Souta echoes. His round eyes go even rounder, and he seems to change his opinion of Tsubasa rather quickly, straightening his posture before dropping into a bow himself. “Thank you! For saving my father!”</p><p>“Ah.” Awkwardness prickles at the back of his neck. “No, it’s. There’s no need for that…”</p><p>“Oh, so it’s that one, is it?” Maika-san is giving Wataru a sly look, which he appears to be pretending not to see. “You might have left a few details out of your account of the story, Wataru. Here I was under the impression that this Dan who saved your life was some gruff and grizzled old battleaxe. But look at this cute young man you’ve brought by.”</p><p>Wataru clears his throat. “Yes, well. Some things will be lost in the telling,” he says drily. “Thank you, Maika-san. For so kindly watching over my darling boy like always.”</p><p>“Anything for my favorite neighbors,” she calls with a cackle as Wataru ushers them away.</p><p>Souta asks him a barrage of questions as they make their way farther up the mountainside to Wataru’s house. They are not, however, the type of questions he’s come to expect from boys his age. Rather than asking him what his armor looks like, how many horrors he’s slain in his life, Souta seems interested in learning his favorite things. Favorite food? Tsubasa tells him it’s the rosemary bread baked by one of the villagers back home. Favorite flower? Moon lilies are Rin’s favorite, and he likes to see her happy, so he supposes they’re his by extension. Favorite bird?</p><p>“Favorite… bird?” he echoes.</p><p>“Most people don’t have a favorite bird, Souta,” Wataru says over his shoulder.</p><p>“Really?” He frowns, looking almost offended. “Mine’s a cardinal.”</p><p>Tsubasa thinks he is already beginning to understand why Wataru is not expecting to make a Knight out of this boy. But it’s… charming, in a way. To meet a child so detached from all of that.</p><p>Wataru’s cabin is built into a far steeper part of the mountain than Maika’s, one corner of it resting on stilt-like supports, the stone path to the front door winding up and around an outcrop. In its residents’ absence quite a few plants outside have become unruly, but inside is surprisingly clean, Souta looking proud as he informs them that he’s been by to tidy up often. It’s a comfortable place, Tsubasa thinks. Small without feeling confining. The floorboards are worn to near-softness and squeak reliably. The shelves are stacked with books and bits of ephemera – jars of glass beads, a collection of old knives and arrowheads, Makai instruments that must have been gifts from Priests, carved wooden sculptures of animals (birds in particular are numerous).</p><p>“Just make yourself at home,” Wataru says. He’s in the middle of adding some light kindling to the fireplace – even spring here on the mountain can be quite cold, Tsubasa is sure, and in fact is already beginning to feel it now that they’re out of the sun’s gaze – and turns back to smile at him. “I was thinking you could take Souta’s bed. It’s a tiny little room, sorry about that. Me and him can share mine easy enough.”</p><p>“Oh, no,” Tsubasa says. “I wouldn’t… wish to impose…”</p><p>Wataru gives him a look. “Just take the room, Tsubasa. Unless you’d prefer sleeping on the floor? You don’t mind, right, Sou?”</p><p>Souta shakes his head quite happily. Having company is evidently not something that happens often around here: his enthusiasm for getting to play the host is palpable. </p><p>It would be far more impolite to refuse such an offer, he supposes.</p><p>Which is how, at least for a short while, he moves into Shijima Wataru’s home.</p><p>Souta’s presence eases whatever tensions he’d expected to feel about this. The boy chatters earnestly that first day, explaining the stories behind many of the objects scattered around the place.</p><p>“That’s from when dad met a spirit,” he says, pointing to a moth-eaten paper parasol propped on a high shelf, painted with what looks like images of people dancing. “And it was like one of those really ancient and powerful ones in disguise as a human. And it gave him that so he wouldn’t get rained on, but he knew better than to use it, ‘cause he said his soul would’ve been trapped in the illustration if he did.”</p><p>Tsubasa gives Wataru a sidelong look. He’s leaning against the wall, watching them with quiet amusement.</p><p>“That really happened, I swear,” he says, raising a hand as if testifying.</p><p>“Shouldn’t you have turned it into the Archives to be classified as a dangerous artifact, then? There it would be under proper lock and key.”</p><p>He laughs at that, and there’s an exasperated fondness to it. “Y’know, we’re really going to have to work on this ‘protocols’ obsession of yours. Get you to loosen up and live a little while you’re out here. That’ll be my new teaching lesson.”</p><p>Tsubasa stares back at him for a moment before glancing away quickly, the air in the room warmer than it had been just a minute ago, and has to ask Souta to repeat what he just said about the tiny hourglass in his hands, as he’d somehow missed it the first time.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>There is something waiting for him when he wakes – a red moth with odd-patterned wings sitting on the windowsill, and when he reaches out and touches it, the creature begins to unravel, unfurling into a slip of parchment with writing scrawled in dark red ink. Jabi must have also read the correspondence he sent home to Rin, as it’s clearly one of her messengers.</p><p>
  <em>Rin got your letter. She wanted me to tell you that she’s glad you’ve “finally made a fellow Knight friend.” Such a cute, innocent kid. She misses you but says she understands.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As for me, I always knew you had it in you to shack up with an older man. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. And if he breaks your heart, I’ll kick his ass for you.</em>
</p><p>It’s signed with a lipstick kiss mark. </p><p>He stares at the words in silence for a moment before scrambling to set fire to the parchment with his lighter.</p><p>“A devilish woman, that one,” Goruba says, an awed note to his voice. “You should be glad she’s on your side, my boy.”</p><p>“That is certainly one blessing,” Tsubasa mutters.</p><p>He wishes he could speak with her face to face so he could immediately retort that this is not “shacking up,” or any of the things that phrase might imply. That it’s merely a visit.</p><p>Still, he wonders if a visit is meant to be so cozy, as he steps out into the silent main room of the cabin – he’s the first to rise, as is often typical, and in another person’s home this should feel odd and prying, to be so intimately present in a space not your own. Here he feels no such thing, however. He busies himself without hesitation with stoking the fireplace, with fetching water to put on for coffee.</p><p>Souta is unsurprisingly energetic as soon as he wakes up, an excited “good morning, Tsubasa-san” as he exits his room, recounting the dream he had in between bites of bread with honey. </p><p>Wataru, however.</p><p>He sinks down into one of the dining table chairs looking half-asleep still, eyes somewhat unfocused and glassy, scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair, leaving a few strands sticking up at odd angles.</p><p>“Are you… quite alright?” Tsubasa asks warily, placing a mug of coffee in front of him, and Wataru laughs.</p><p>“Truth is,” he mutters, “I’m pretty bad at mornings.” He rolls his shoulder and winces at the sound it makes. “I pretend to be with it in the morning at camp, but. It’s a struggle. Always taken me longer than it should to wake up. Not very Knightly, I know.”</p><p>Ah, Tsubasa thinks. That is rather… endearing.</p><p>“Well,” he says, clearing his throat. “While I’m here, I will be good enough at mornings for the both of us.”</p><p>Wataru looks up at him, tired eyes widening a bit. Something seems to stretch between them in this moment, weighty but not unpleasant.</p><p>“Would you?” he says softly. “I would appreciate that.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Tsubasa-san, d’you like being a Makai Knight?”</p><p>He pauses, shears about to clip an errant branch from the rosebush threatening to encroach over the windowsill. Souta is tugging at stubborn weeds along the path with his mouth set in a firm line. Tsubasa had assigned himself groundskeeping duty as something to do while Wataru is out hunting down supplies, and had been surprised when Souta had volunteered to remain behind as well.</p><p>“Do I like it?” he echoes. Frowns. “I don’t know. I don’t often think about it in that manner. It is merely my duty.”</p><p>“Dad says he likes it. That he gets so happy when he saves someone. But… he says he hates it, too. ‘Cause of all the awful things he has to see. And all of the other people he can’t save.”</p><p>Tsubasa snips at another branch, the rosebud on the end already beginning to unfurl just a bit, now cut short before it could bloom. He watches it fall to the grass at his feet.</p><p>“I see,” he says.</p><p>Did he feel anything like that? Joy, or staggering relief, when he woke to learn that he and Kouga had saved Wataru? He doesn’t remember anything of the sort. Only the dull satisfaction of knowing he accomplished a task, that he fulfilled an apparent obligation. A box checked off a list.</p><p>But he thinks he’s been feeling it lately. A retroactive emotion, broken into smaller pieces during its long transit, those pieces continuing to arrive every day. He finds that he’s grateful to his past self, for doing so dutifully what he thought was correct.</p><p>Regardless of their colleagues’ scoffing, regardless of any logic, he’s glad he saved Wataru. And the next time he saves a civilian’s life, he thinks he might, for the very first time, feel a spark of real happiness then, too.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The only other neighbors close enough to be called neighbors at all are a couple and their daughter who live on the other side of the slope. They’re brush artisans, Wataru tells him. Not exactly a constant, clamoring business, but at least a few times a year a Priest or two will appear and stay for a little while at their home while the perfect brush is made to suit them.</p><p>Shigeo, the husband, is a stern and stoic man who seems to communicate mainly through nods, while Hana, the wife, is bubbly and full of warm welcomes as she meets them out in her garden. (Yui, the twelve year old daughter, is off somewhere with Souta – “probably their secret fort,” Wataru tells him.) </p><p>They exchange a pheasant Wataru caught for a bushel of vegetables, and Hana presses Wataru to tell her all about his students this year and about any gossip he’s learned while out and about in the world.</p><p>“You remember Marin, right? You made a new brush for her a couple years ago. She’s taken over the school in Kyoukai and apparently she’s teaching those kids some things the higher ups aren’t too happy about. ‘Restricted info,’ so to speak.”</p><p>Hana laughs delightedly and claps her hands together. “Oh, that sounds just like her. What about Yuzuru? Have you heard anything about him?”</p><p>Tsubasa finds himself drifting out of their radius, not wishing to be in the way of their conversation. On the porch, Shigeo is applying dark lacquer to the brush handle he’s working on, carefully painting over the detailed carvings along the top.</p><p>“That’s beautiful work,” Tsubasa tells him, and receives a slow nod of thanks in reply. “Would it… be alright for me to sit?”</p><p>“Please,” Shigeo says, a low rumble of a voice, gesturing to the empty stretch of porch next to him, and Tsubasa ducks his head as he takes a seat. The man silently pours a glass of barley tea and offers it to him, which he accepts gratefully, sipping at it as he takes in the full view of their impressive garden: neat where Maika’s was frenzied, with tidy rows of cabbages and herbs and what look like onions, trellises standing in wait for the summer, the flowerpatch so densely blooming it’s like a small patchwork quilt.</p><p>From this distance, the garden buzzing with insect life in between them, he can’t quite make out what Wataru and Hana are saying; only a snippet here and there of someone’s name he doesn’t know, a place he’s never heard of. Wataru’s lopsided smile is warm as Hana gestures animatedly at him.</p><p>Tsubasa can feel Shigeo looking at him out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>“Barchess,” the man says, and Tsubasa turns to blink at him.</p><p>“…What?”</p><p>Shigeo lifts his chin in Wataru’s direction. “He’s fond of barchess. Do you play?”</p><p>“Well. Not religiously, but once in a while.” He certainly spent enough of his childhood watching the village elders play to have the chessboard and hundreds of sequences of possible moves seared into the back of his mind.</p><p>Shigeo nods again. “That’ll do, then. Good luck.”</p><p>Tsubasa can feel his brow knit together. Is he wishing him luck at winning a mere game? That hardly seems necessary, he’s about to say, but is interrupted by Wataru calling him.</p><p>“Tsubasa, I’m heading home! You coming?”</p><p>“Ah, yes!” He jumps back to his feet; bows to the couple before hurrying to follow after.</p><p>It’s a strange thing to get stuck in his thoughts, Shigeo’s words, but such a quiet man purposefully speaking up to tell him something so innocuous… It must mean something.</p><p>“Wataru-san,” he says later, as he diligently chops the vegetables Hana gave them. He’s going for nonchalant but isn’t quite sure he manages it. “Do you happen to own a barchess board?”</p><p>Wataru glances up in surprise from the fish he’s de-scaling. “Of course I do. Do you play?”</p><p>“Not often. Leisure is… not something I’m overly familiar with,” he admits. “But for some reason I was thinking… that I was in the mood for a game.”</p><p>“Really?” There is a glint in Wataru’s eyes. “Well, I think we can arrange that. You should probably be prepared to lose, though.”</p><p>“We’ll see about that,” Tsubasa says primly, and can feel Wataru’s surprise again before it turns into a startled laugh.</p><p>He is very good, in the end. He places the pieces in that manner that only seasoned players do, held lightly between three fingers and the thumb, and Tsubasa finds himself watching his hands as he does so. Watching his face, as well, the intent downturn of his mouth as he ponders his next move. His play style is highly defensive, closely guarding his queen, while Tsubasa has no such compunctions, allowing that piece out into the fray, and it’s this, he thinks, that against all odds gains him the win. </p><p>Wataru stares down at the board in dismay when it’s over.</p><p>“Y’know, I had yet to meet a single one of you younger generation who knew anything about the game,” he murmurs. Sits back with a sigh. “Well. I guess this is one more for the list of ‘things for which I have nothing to teach you.’”</p><p>Tsubasa shakes his head. “One of the elders, they said… That barchess was a game where you could know your opponent like the back of your hand and still be surprised by their moves. So I think the results could be different. When we play next time.”</p><p>Wataru blinks back at him. Lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Right. yeah,” he says, and his knee bumps against Tsubasa’s under the table. “Next time.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A week passes.</p><p>At least, he’s fairly certain it does. The passage of time, he finds, is somewhat liminal here in the remote mountains, hours flashing by in a snap one afternoon only to stretch out in a languid morass the next, each moment suspended as if encased in liquid amber. </p><p>They finish pruning the vegetation around the house and move on to attempt the same in Maika’s garden, without much success. (He gets the sense she prefers it chaotic anyhow.)</p><p>He meets Yui – a terribly shy child, who whispers her hellos as she sticks close by Souta’s side. Souta blabbers on about how smart and imaginative and amazing of a best friend she is while the poor girl turns beet red and finally drags him away to their hideout again.</p><p>Wataru starts on a new sculpture, confirming Tsubasa’s suspicions that the carved animals scattered around the house are his own handiwork. He can often be found on the steps out front, head bent over the piece of wood in his hands, the nape of his neck getting tanned as the sun shines down on him, knife chiseling away bit by bit.</p><p>“What’s it gonna be, dad?” Souta asks, and Wataru gives him an amused look.</p><p>“You know that’s not how it works, Sou. You’ll know it when it’s ready to be known.”</p><p>“Boooring,” Souta mutters. “I hate waiting.”</p><p>Privately, Tsubasa can’t help but agree with him.</p><p><em>For all that you believe in doing things by the book,</em> one of his teachers told him once, <em>you’re restless at heart. Hard to say if that will be a burden or a boon for you later. Maybe both.</em></p><p>He’s certainly starting to feel restless here. Not due to the peace and quiet – those are things he’s well used to – but rather. It’s the being kept in suspense that’s getting to him.</p><p>‘Strung along’ is probably what Jabi would call it.</p><p>Tonight, though, he’s more bothered by how he always seems to lose at rock paper scissors. It’s a game of luck, isn’t it? How, then, does he always come in last in their three-person games to decide who goes first in the bath? There must be some trick to it that neither Wataru or Souta is divulging. Rin, too, always won against him at such things when they were younger. He frowns as he tugs on his pants and sets to work drying his hair.</p><p>There is a rap at the door; it slides open to Wataru holding a dusty decanter of some suspiciously dark liquid, which he lifts with a smile.</p><p>“Tsubasa, you interested in a nightcap? This is the good stuff, I promise.”</p><p>Tsubasa drapes his towel around his neck and considers this. He’s not much of a drinker. Anything stronger than a mug of wine has been proven a poor idea. But what harm could it possibly do, at this point?</p><p>“I suppose so,” he says, but Wataru doesn’t seem to be listening. </p><p>His eyes have drifted down, expression suddenly devoid of humor, and it takes Tsubasa a moment to realize what has captured his attention. The scar. Just a neat line of pale raised flesh above his left hipbone, well-healed all these months later, and though he can’t often get as good a look at it, he thinks the matching mark on his back must be just as inconsequential. He has at least three far more noticeable old wounds, including the impression of monstrous claws that gouged a chunk out of his shoulder. And yet.</p><p>Wataru steps through the doorway. Sets the decanter on the side table without taking his eyes off that scar.</p><p>“Does it still hurt at all?” he asks quietly.</p><p>“…Not particularly.” Tsubasa clears his throat. “A twinge now and then, maybe. As far as wounds go, it was about as clean as it gets.” <em>So stop looking at me like that. Please. With such remorse.</em> “Didn’t you say you were glad I’d gone through with it?”</p><p>“True enough. It’s just… strange, to actually see it for myself,” Wataru says. Takes another step closer, until the distance is small enough to be tangible. Reaches out his hand, and Tsubasa holds his breath, then, pulse thumping loud in his ears, as his fingertips come within a fraction of brushing the scar.</p><p>Wataru stops. Shakes himself. His hand falls away, and it feels like solid ground giving out into empty air beneath them.</p><p>“Sorry,” he says; a thin, apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to barge in on you like this.”</p><p><em>I can’t do this anymore.</em> That is the only coherent thought Tsubasa can muster.</p><p>He reaches up, gripping Wataru’s shirt collar in both hands and pulling him into a kiss.</p><p>It’s brief, just a chaste press of the lips, but it feels like relief, like a crushing weight being lifted from his chest. Wataru looks startled for only a moment after he pulls away, and then something shifts – into acceptance, nodding silently to himself and letting out a breath. His expression softens as he presses his palm against his jawline and leans in again.</p><p>He gets the impression that Wataru has done this far more often than he has. (An easy feat, considering he has never done this at all, but even so.) It’s warm enough to make his mind feel hazy, moreso when Wataru’s thumb finally comes to rest against that scar, tracing the edges of it, firm but gentle, and Tsubasa presses into the touch without meaning to, making a low, needy sound in the back of his throat. </p><p>He finds himself shrinking back a moment later, covering his mouth with his hand as his neck flushes hot.</p><p>“Ah, that’s,” he starts to say. “Sorry, I…”</p><p>Wataru stares back at him before coughing into his hand in a way that sounds suspiciously like a disguised laugh. He reaches out to smooth down Tsubasa’s hair where it’s been mussed, hands lingering at the nape of his neck for a moment before pulling away. “Well. Maybe enough of that for now,” he says. “Let’s… have that drink, alright? And talk a bit.”</p><p>He tosses him his shirt with a good-natured smile and grabs the bottle from the table on his way out.</p><p>The barchess game they’d adjourned on yesterday still sits in a stalemate on the table as Tsubasa awkwardly takes the seat across from him.</p><p>“To be totally honest,” Wataru says, sliding a glass of the mystery spirits over to him, “I invited you out here because I thought… it would scare you off.”</p><p>Tsubasa can feel his brow furrow. His heartrate still hasn’t entirely recovered from before, and it picks up again now, this time with a tinge of unease. “Scare me off?”</p><p>Wataru shakes his head. “Maybe that’s not the right way to put it. More like. Bore you away, if that makes any sense. I thought I’d bring you here, show you who I really am outside of work. Just… an uninteresting man with a kid who lives the quietest possible life in the middle of nowhere. And you’d… I don’t know. Come to your senses, I suppose. You’d say, ‘oh, it was just a passing interest after all.’ And leave to find somebody more worth your time.</p><p>“But it’s been this many days, and you’re still here,” he says, sipping at his drink as he contemplates the chessboard. They had adjourned on his move. “And beyond that, I think I might have… overlooked my own feelings in all this. Having you around like this, it’s. Doing something to me.”</p><p>Something swoops disconcertingly in the pit of Tsubasa’s stomach. “…I see,” he says.</p><p>“Well,” Wataru continues, “I should probably apologize. For being cagey about everything. It’s just that it’s been… kind of a long time, since I had anything… real. Hard to find and keep meaningful relationships in this line of work.”</p><p>“A… relationship?” Tsubasa prompts. “Is that what you’d like to have?”</p><p>“I think I would.” He smiles, small and relaxed. “Assuming that’s what you’re after as well – Oh, wait, hold on. I found my move.” He reaches out and slides his bishop four spaces across the board, a notably bold play by his standards, before glancing back up at Tsubasa warmly. “Took me long enough, hm?”</p>
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